Forced Breeding My Stocking Mom Becomes My Wife

My mother was a dance teacher. She was a natural-born beauty of the rarest kind—elegant, radiant, with a face that stopped people cold. Her skin was fine and luminous like polished jade, faintly flushed, and her small mouth was soft and full in a way that invited the eye. Anyone who saw her said she had the kind of looks that could shame the moon and make flowers wither from envy.

Time had barely touched her. The beauty was still there, and so was the body: tight, full, dangerous. She stood five-foot-six with measurements that sat at a near-perfect thirty-five, twenty-three, thirty-four. The numbers only sharpened the mature, knowing sensuality that clung to her. Full breasts, a narrow waist, hips that filled out every skirt. Long legs she almost always kept in sheer stockings, the kind that made a man’s mouth go dry. Add the low, warm voice and no one believed she was thirty-eight. Most people guessed mid-twenties.

She favored tailored suits the way ordinary office women did, but she liked them short. Short skirts, stockings, heels—every day. The combination was crisp and sharp and filthy at the same time.

My father worked for a foreign company. Last year they sent him overseas for training; he wouldn’t be back for a full year. That left just the two of us in the house. I was eighteen. I’d known what sex was since junior high, and the hunger never quieted. Of course it turned toward her—the beautiful, soft-mouthed, silk-stockinged woman who lived under the same roof.

I loved the way she looked in summer clothes. Short skirt, stockings, heels: clean lines, long legs, that quiet, intelligent heat. I used to lie in bed and picture shoving her down, ripping the clothes off her, taking every inch of that body while she struggled. Under her strict rules I never got close. All I could do was steal her silk panties and stockings and work myself raw with them.

Then I found an article in an adult magazine about mother-son incest. The boy in the story loved his beautiful mother the same way I did. He lured her out to the countryside under the excuse of a picnic, forced her, and put a baby in her. She divorced the father and married the son. They lived happily ever after. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why couldn’t I do the same?

So I built a plan. A plan that would let me pin her under me, use her, and fill her until she carried my child. I spent a long time refining it until it was airtight. Still I hesitated—afraid of hurting her—until that night.

I woke to a hard need to piss and headed for the bathroom. Passing her bedroom I heard a soft, broken sound. I thought something was wrong and pushed the door open.

One look killed the sleep in me. Soft lamp light. Her pale-pink nightgown was open, both full white breasts completely bare. Her panties were around her ankles. One hand stroked the dark, glossy curls between her legs; the other worked a stiff nipple. Her face was flushed with shy heat and small moans slipped from her throat.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I eased the door shut. She never saw me. Outside I fought the urge down with pure willpower. She was masturbating. A woman in her prime, starved for a man’s hands. Father had been gone too long. The hunger had nowhere to go and it was eating her. Fine. I would be the one to ease it. She wouldn’t hate me for it. She might even thank me.

It was a July morning when I decided the day had come. I suggested we drive out to Whispering Woods Park. She agreed at once and went to change.

Ten minutes later she walked out in a beige suit. The skirt barely covered the full curve of her ass. Under the jacket was a white sheer blouse thin enough to show the lace edge of her bra. Sheer nude stockings. White pointed-toe heels with a little strap.

I was hard the second I saw her. Short skirt, stockings, heels—exactly how I liked her best. Knowing that in a little while that same outfit would be hiked up around her waist while she took my cock made my dick throb. I grabbed her slim waist, spun her around twice, and told her, “Mom, you’re so fucking beautiful. Like a goddess. If you weren’t my mother I’d chase you until you married me.”

She blushed and said, “Put me down!” She still treated every touch like ordinary mother-son affection. She never caught the filthy look that flashed through my eyes. We joked a little more, then grabbed the bags I’d packed and left. She locked the door behind us. She had no idea that when we came back, nothing would ever be the same.

Whispering Woods Park was huge, thick with trees and quiet trails. Plenty of empty stretches. Perfect. The hills were dense with green and heavy underbrush.

I took her hand and led her deeper. She was lost in the scenery, completely unaware that every step pulled her farther into the trap her own son had built.

We wandered all morning. By the time I steered her into a small clearing deep in the park, almost no one ever came this far. Deeper still I’d built a few cabins—exactly where I planned to take her virginity and put a baby in her. I suggested we rest and enjoy the view.

She didn’t think twice. She sat against a tree and asked with a smile, “Tired?” I leaned against her, laid my hand on her stockinged thigh, and stroked slowly. “Mom, you walked all this way in heels and you’re not even tired. How could I be?”

She slapped my hand away, shot me a playful look, and said, “You little brat. Flirting with your own mother.” That sultry glance almost made me shove her down right there and fuck her against the tree.

No more waiting. I checked the area—empty. Then I said, “Mom, rest here a minute. I need to take a piss.” She smiled and nodded.

I slipped into the brush, circled behind the tree, and grabbed her from behind. Before she could react I clamped an ether-soaked cloth over her mouth. The second she realized what was happening the chemical hit. She made muffled, panicked sounds and struggled weakly.

The noise only made me harder. My cock was rock-solid. I locked my arms around her soft, full body and held on until she went limp.

When she woke she was lying on a bed. A man sat beside her, stroking her beautiful face. Panic flared—she thought she’d been grabbed by some stran